


Inebriation Report

by thecurlyginger



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlyginger/pseuds/thecurlyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie realizes she and Ben have developed routines. She decides to study one. Set throughout the end of season 5 and beginning of season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inebriation Report

**Author's Note:**

> I binged watch the entire show in two weeks and have since been thinking of fic ideas because these characters are perfect. This is the first idea to entice me enough to actually start typing. I hope you enjoy!

Ben and Leslie have achieved a routine, and while Ben attributes everything to Leslie's meticulous planning of even the smallest of things in her, no, _their_ lives, Leslie is a little surprised that it's taken her so long to notice that there even is a routine.

When they have time for breakfast in and Leslie isn't having a JJ's Diner craving, they manage to prepare their foods just as they like them, no matter the circumstance. Leslie can be too busy rehearsing her town hall arguments for the day, so Ben's making their toast – butter and jam for him and just a heaping pile of jam almost as thick as the bread itself for her. And while Ben's trying to comb his hair in a particular direction and get it under control, Leslie's making their coffee – a splash of milk for him and a half cream/half coffee concoction with as many sugar packets as she can find on hand. If she's ready to start her day right, she'll add some whipped cream on top; if Ben's in charge of coffee, he'll put in two packets in hers and hide the rest, also with the intention of her starting her day off right.

In the rare occasion that they're in the kitchen together, they still manage to move around each other flawlessly, alternating between buttering, stirring, and covering the stove together to watch the sizzling bacon and the scrambled eggs. It's the coming together that matters most in the end after all, and Ben is thankful for this routine every time he sees their elaborate breakfast spread. Leslie, however, is more concerned with another routine they've gotten into.

Any night that the two of them share a bottle of wine or any volume of alcohol more than just a casual beer at dinner, without fail, results in them having sex. She never plans it and can't recall Ben ever insisting they drink with any sort of innuendo or ulterior motive, and yet they somehow find themselves sprawled out on the couch, Ben's hand doing unspeakable things while she's writhing against his erection. It's rough and quick but satisfies the need that seems to creep up whenever they're inebriated.

Leslie doesn't notice this until she's realized their breakfast routine one morning after a drunken night, so once the revelation hits her as she's biting into her toast, she chews methodically while starring at Ben... beautiful, trustworthy, sexy-while-wasted-and-telling-her-how-good-she-feels-when-he's-thrusting-into-her Ben. He looks at her over the coffee cup he's sipping from and his eyes crinkle in a smile, making Leslie feel guilty for her dirty train of thought. Can she even ask him about that? “Oh hey Ben, don't forget that we have that meeting with our accountant about tax season and combining our assets. Also, did you know that every time we get drunk, we can't keep our hands off each other? _EVERY TIME?_ ”

She's not even sure why it fascinates her so much. She never gets blackout drunk and knows that there's never been an issue with consent between them. There's just something about the way that it's unspoken and only subconsciously planned that makes her want to pull out her colored binders and tab dividers and get some research done. She did just stock up on office supplies, and with her wedding now in the past and no more planning in her foreseeable future, she has more free time on her hands...

No. Leslie can't do this. A study on her and her husband while he's unaware? It couldn't be a proper study anyway, as it would be subjective on her interpretation of the sex and her personal levels of inebriation. And why is she still thinking about this? She needs to busy her thoughts with something else.

“-and then, get this,” Ben says excitedly, gathering Leslie's attention, “the guy on the forum had the gaul to say that Wash is a two-dimensional character and just the comic relief. Within minutes, the board was flooded with retorts and every member's signature was 'I'm a leaf on the wind.' I've never seen the _Firefly_ boards so lively since people were trying to give the stars money to put the show back on the air!”

Leslie smiles back as she nonchalantly brings up, “I only watched a couple of episodes, but isn't there some moral ambiguity in the plot?” _Stop thinking about it._

Ben's eyes light up. “Yeah, you know, it deals with issues of whether or not the government should meddle and stealing to make money at the expense of others. I found it so fascinating that I wrote a scholarly essay about it and it's published in an unauthorized book of essays on the show! You wanna see it?” _Just stop it._

“Yeah in a bit,” Leslie says hurriedly, “but does that mean you're okay with gray areas, so long as it's for a good story or research or just generally the common good?” _Don't go there, Leslie._

“I guess,” he replies, looking at her with confusion as he eats his bacon. “Is this still about the essay?”

Leslie nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, lemme see it!”

Well, she'll put his ambiguous approval somewhere in her study's mission statement along with science fiction shows under topics to derail possible future arguments.

First things first, Leslie decides, they need a control. The control will be sex, of course, which she's had no trouble obtaining from Ben. He jumps her two days later when they return to his sister's home flushed after running from the park ranger. Ben's thanking her in between kisses down her neck, telling her that there's nobody more thoughtful, more exciting, more hot for stealing the key to the city, more incredibly incredible than she.

“Incredibly incredible?” Leslie asks in a panting breath as he's already unbuttoned her shirt and rubbing her nipple with his thumb under her bra. It's driving her insane; she has to keep reminding herself that Stephanie is sleeping downstairs so she doesn't make too much noise.

“I'm too preoccupied to come up with elaborate compliments. Ask me again later.” Ben reaches around to unhook her bra and leads her so that her calves hit the bed. Leslie falls back, pulling him down with her, and he's already unbuttoning her pants and pulling them off her as she raises her hips. He makes quick work of his own shirt and pants while standing.

Leslie pouts. “It's no fun if you're doing all the work.” He crawls back in, nestling himself between her legs, only their underwear separating them.

“I think I can make it fun,” he counters and he's already sliding down so that his face is snug between her legs, his nose brushing against her clit over her panties. He breathes in her musk and licks her over the fabric. This has Leslie back against the mattress, fisting the sheets. “Is it fun yet?” His words vibrate against her, and all she can do is hum in response. Ben pulls off her underwear and tosses it behind him before licking her clit slowly, pushing a finger into her and moving it at the same pace. Leslie thrusts her hips toward him, wanting more, so he holds her down with one hand while the other pushes another finger in and speeds up, his tongue moving quicker. She's whimpering above him, a mumbled mess of encouragement when he switches, his tongue moving inside of her while his fingers rub her. “Don't stop,” she begs, and as the words leave her, her orgasm crescendos through her body, hips bucking as she rides it out.

Lazily, she pushes up on her shaky arms to meet him as he climbs up toward her to meet him in a kiss. Ben tastes of her, and though Leslie is still coming off her orgasm, her muscles still throbbing in the background, the kiss is sexy as all hell and turning her on. “Sex, now please.”

“Mmm, I love it when you command me while still remembering your manners,” Ben replies while reaching over to grab a condom from his luggage. She watches him as he unwraps it and slips it on with the sheepish look he always has when attending to the more technical and less sexy parts of their love making. When he pushes into her slowly, whispering “Fuck” into her ear, she gasps. Leslie doesn't think it will ever get old, the feeling of him inside her. She wraps her legs around him, her hands moving to feel his chest, shoulders, back, and eventually his ass.

Humming in satisfaction, Leslie at last says, “Continue.” Ben's laughing as he begins moving, slowly and deeply. “I love you, Leslie Knope. I love you so fucking much,” he says, his words strained by pleasure.

“I love you too,” Leslie replies, tightening her legs around him. “I love you so much and I'm so glad we're married and--” She stops talking to kiss his neck, satisfied when he groans in response. “And I love that we're just the best at sex.”

“The best,” he responds, pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, eliciting a quiet moan from Leslie, “yeah, we're _so_ the best.” But he can't joke around for much longer because he's so close that he thrusts with an unfocused look on his face that Leslie takes to mean _make this last part count._ She angles her hips to match his movements and arches her back, accentuating her breasts. “ _Christ_ , Leslie, you're so fucking hot,” and he groans with a final thrust. When he pulls out slowly, she looks at him with pride, satisfied that she can please him. Ben kisses her and gets out of the bed uneasily to clean up.

While he's in the bathroom, Leslie lays back into the pillows before remembering her study. She hurriedly grabs one of the many notebooks in her bag and scribbles everything down from memory. Ben returns and pulls on his briefs before getting back into bed and moving under the covers. “What are you writing down?”

Leslie holds the notebook close to her, not wanting him to see. She blurts out “Gift ideas!”

“I thought your gift idea book was the blue one,” he says but grabs his phone and starts scrolling through the news. Leslie doesn't think he's too skeptical anyway.

“I ran out of space and forgot to pack another one,” she lies, and jots down the last bit about his orgasm and an estimate time of sexual intercourse before closing the notebook and shoving it back in under her toiletries. Leslie feels guilty for her deception, despite meaning well. After all, she thinks Ben will like the finished study; he'll find it sexy and thoughtful like all of her observations about them and all of her scrapbooks and calendar days commemorating important events in their lives.

But a talk with Ann, her beautiful red panda voice of reason, is in order to sort out her conflicting emotions.

Leslie finally catches Ann after she returns from the hospital. She's barely in her seat for two minutes when Leslie walks in, usual purpose in her step. “Ann, can we talk about something?”

Ann's unwrapping her take-out lunch and letting out a sigh to relieve the tension of dealing with Ron Swanson on another one of his stubborn tirades, slightly bemused by the fact that he made a great patient. “Only if it's not about weird new sex positions you and Ben can try, because the last thing I need is seeing you and him by proxy with the idea wedged in my mind that you're going to try some weird thing later.”

“Whoa, where did you get that idea from?” Leslie asks, suddenly interested in the types of conversations Ann's been keeping from her.

“You might get weird town questions and issues, but when I'm at the hospital, couples will randomly ask me questions about different positions being possible, safe, comfortable, and all that because they're married and ready to spice up their sex lives. It's bizarre and not what I want to know from Tania who makes my salad.” On that note, she looks at her forkful of lettuce and loses some of her appetite. “But even if that's not it, I know you want to talk about sex because that's the only topic you don't jump right into when you walk through these doors.”

Leslie takes her usual seat and nods. “Your gorgeous detective work is right; it _is_ about sex. But specifically the fact that Ben and I always have sex when we get drunk. It's this weird unspoken routine that I don't think about and I don't think he does either. We just _do it_. And I want to document it and take notes on it in the name of the scientific method. That's okay, right?”

“You're probably right that Ben doesn't think about it because whenever he tries to insinuate that you and he are going to have sex later in some private code, he does that eyebrow thing and that chuckle and isn't subtle at all. In fact, we all know you're going to do it. Even Jerry.” Ann's laugh cuts through, and Leslie joins in briefly. “Leslie, you _do_ know that alcohol doesn't make people want to have sex who wouldn't normally do it, right? It lowers your inhibitions a bit, but it's not making you feel the urge unless you already have it. You should be happy that that's natural on both sides, that you're both physically attracted to one another and still lead active sex lives.”

Leslie nods excitedly. “But the study's a good idea, right? To see how much alcohol it takes for that to get moving, to see how it affects the sex? You're a nurse! You're the health department public relations director! You've gotta support that this could change...” She trails off at Ann's skeptical look and tries to repair the statement: “This could mean something...to someone?”

Ann reluctantly shrugs at that conclusion and carefully chooses her words. “I think it means that you're scared that it's a routine and you don't want to fall into a married life of routines. There are plenty of studies out there that show how alcohol affects sex, and I'm pretty sure you knew that already. I'm not trying to ruin your fun and your research. I just don't want you to make this into something that it isn't. Have you talked to Ben about it?”

“Not...” Leslie's looking anywhere but at her best friend. “I didn't want to bring it up to him until I had a finished study. It could be nice to go through it together, like a weird... sexual... scrapbook.” At this point, she knows that Ann can see her grasping at straws, but if Leslie Knope is anything, it's steadfast in what she sets her mind to.

“If you don't want to tell him and this isn't hurting him, I can't see much wrong with it. Just tell Ben the truth if he asks, okay Les?” Leslie nods and steers the conversation into her time in Partridge, though the study is still on her mind. She's a bit perturbed by Ann's assumption that she's afraid of marital routine. Her fondest memories of her mother and father together are of family traditions: all three of them going to the harvest festival or her parents celebrating their anniversary by going to the same bar they met in and wearing the teeshirt of the band that performed that night. It still makes Leslie smile thinking of her stickler of a mother wearing a faded tee of the 1960s equivalent of Mouse Rat.

She doesn't hate routine.

Regardless, Leslie has heeded Ann's hesitancy and goes for a softer approach on the study rather than hammering drinks down Ben's throat. She'll just let it happen, and what better way to let it happen than with blowing off steam after being forced to read laws that equate women to property and living in the Pawnee Historic House Museum with Garth? Once she's showered to get out the smell of her starched dress and the accumulated sweat and grime from wearing it, she gets comfortable in a bathrobe, laying out on the couch and enjoying her information overload of email browsing on her phone and cooking shows on her television.

“Getting any ideas for your new waffle maker?” Ben asks, gesturing toward the TV with two beers in hand.

Leslie pauses before taking hers, noting the time on her phone in case this escalates, but then drinks the offered alcohol with vigor. God, she's missed beer. And showers. And air conditioning. Once she's downed nearly half of it, she shakes her head. “I never watch cooking shows for the recipes. I just do it to see what food to order in a restaurant.”

Ben laughs in response with a look on his face reserved for her that's a mix between _You're impossible, Leslie Knope_ and possibly _How did I marry this insane woman?_ Leslie's not sure where she falls on the spectrum today. They enjoy comfortable silence; Leslie drinks her beer slower to match Ben's pace while he gets cozy sitting with her legs sprawled over his lap. When she notices they've finished their first bottles, she puts hers on the coffee table and leans in to kiss Ben.

He kisses back, but aside from the hoppy beer taste, there's no added heat or rush to it. Once they break the kiss, she smiles and leans back into her cushion. “I missed you,” she tells him.

“Yeah? I missed you too,” he says, running his hands along her exposed shins in a relaxing way.

“My weak, feeble womanly arms could hardly keep the house together. If only I had a real man around,” Leslie deadpans while rolling her eyes. “I would have brought back butter, but I'm not sure you would have wanted it when I was done churning. It looked awful and probably tasted of gender roles.”

Ben pats her legs gently. “That's okay. You want another beer? I think you need to unwind.”

Smiling, Leslie says, “Sure.”

The second beer, it turns out, seems to make a difference. Leslie's sitting up now next to Ben; they've changed the channel to a repeat of _Friends_ , and his hand is resting on her knee. They're both halfway through their beers and making easy conversation about how much of a tool Dennis Feinstein is. One episode of the show turns into two and they've completely finished their drinks, four empty bottles now scattered along the table and floor. During a lull in the conversation, they just sit back and watch.

Leslie's mind is a little fuzzy with the buzz from the alcohol, so when Ben's hand starts trailing up her leg under the soft fabric of the robe, her thoughts are less of the usual _Oh, I hope my legs are still smooth from shaving yesterday_ and more along the lines of _Oh my god, his hand keeps getting higher. Is he going to stop at the thigh? No, he's still going..._ She turns to him once his hand reaches where her thigh meets her hip, his pupils dilated with desire and eyes wide with the discovery that she's not wearing underwear. Leslie leans in to kiss him, breaking off quickly to test the waters, and when she looks at Ben, his eyes are on her lips, calculating. He quickly moves to kiss her, this time harder, rougher, more tongue, more open mouths and hard breathing.

They're pushing against and holding onto each other for dominance. Leslie straddles Ben mid-kiss and though she's sure his hands are on her back one second, the next, he's untying her robe and holding her from underneath it. His hands move up and down her back to grasping her ass to moving along her torso and fondling her breasts. During his exploration, she's kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt, kissing lower from his collarbone to chest with every exposure of skin. A more drunk Ben, Leslie considers while running her fingers through his hair, would have flipped her over on the couch by now. Not a bad thing at all, but they're just buzzed right now. They have some time to fool around.

“Wanna take this somewhere Joey can't watch us?” Ben asks huskily, and it takes Leslie a second before she realizes he means Joey from the TV show. She's laughing over his cheesy line, unable to move from her own giddiness, so Ben picks her up and holds her still straddled around his hips. When her laughter subsides, she takes advantage of the situation and begins nibbling on his earlobe and licks the spot on his neck that makes him gasp. Rather than rush to the bedroom, he pushes her against the wall in the hallway, kissing her roughly.

This is new. His erection is pressing against her belly through his pants that _have_ to be straining him by now. She's grasping onto him for dear life not to fall but also to be touched, for friction, for release. “I wanna do this,” Leslie blurts out against his lips.

“I obviously want to do this too,” Ben answers, looking briefly at his obvious arousal.

She reaches down to take off his belt, pulling at it the best she can in this position. “No, up against the wall. But the bedroom,” she gasps against him as he begins licking and sucking on her nipple. She arches against him, her chest positioned in front of his face while held up like this. “Condoms in the bedroom...” Ben hums in agreement before hoisting her up again and carrying her there.

Her robe's practically flowing with the speed he's moving. Once they're inside, he slams the bedroom door closed with his foot, and Leslie's pushed against it. Ben kisses her again thoroughly before gently letting her down. “Just a sec,” he promises while stepping to their bedside drawer and grabbing a couple of condoms. She looks amused. “In case one breaks!”

When Ben begins to pull of his shirt, Leslie shakes her head. She pushes him gently against the door and shrugs the shirt off his shoulders. Kissing her way down, she's on her knees, eye-level with his waist. Leslie unbuttons his pants and pushes them to the floor along with his briefs. Ben lets out a shaky breath as she takes his erection into her mouth.

If she's completely honest, she's never been the biggest fan of blow jobs. They make her jaw hurt and half the time, she feels like she's doing it wrong. There haven't been any vocal complaints from her sexual partners but neither is there the audible enjoyment that she sees in the movies. With Ben, though, he's very audible. He sighs her name repeatedly along with quite a few curses before he either comes or makes her stop so they can fuck. This time, he votes for the latter.

“Les, you gotta – _Jesus_ – you need to stop or this is going to end _really soon._ ” She feels a surge of pride at that as she pulls away, reaching for a condom. Unwrapping it, she puts it on for him, enjoying his gasp and her hand slides down him to put it on.

“Need a moment?” She can be patient and though doing that for Ben is hot, she needs to get herself turned on a bit more. Leslie stands up and lets him pull his pants and underwear off his ankles. Once the clothing is thrown by the bed, he's kissing her back against the wall, roaming his hands down to her breasts and playing with her nipples. While he's nibbling her lower lip lightly, arousal surging through her core, he runs a finger from her opening to her clit. She gasps, and he covers her mouth in a rough kiss.

Ben moves his hands to her thighs, ready to hoist her up again. He pauses, looking at her until she nods, ready. Leslie's hands reach around his neck for support, finger nails clawing against his shoulder blades as he pushes into her slowly. “You feel fucking incredible,” he tells her, “so wet and hot and I... shit, Leslie, you're fucking gorgeous.”

But Leslie's impatient and more than a little turned on from his words, so she shifts her hips. Ben takes the hint and being moving, thrusting frantically while holding her up. “Definitely worth it,” Leslie says into his ears. And as much as she wants this to last, she can see Ben's barely holding on. With her left hand still wrapped around his neck, her right is moving between them, aiming for her own release. The added stimulation pushes her closer to the edge than she thought she was. Ben slows, transfixed by her getting off. That's not going to do. “Ben, fuck me. For the love of everything Pawnee, fuck me.”

Ben can't argue with that logic, so he resumes his fast pace. “I love it when you curse, when you're so close and so,” he groans, unable to speak for a moment with orgasm so close, “so desperate to come. I love that I can make you come, that I get to fuck you and no one else. You're _mine_.” Leslie's holding on for dear life, at the very brink of becoming undone.

“Ben Wyatt, you've been mine from the moment I met you,” she gasps, and then she's coming, riding out the waves of it. She barely registers his orgasm; his forehead's on her chest and he's thrusting one last time, shaky legs barely holding her up, let alone himself. They untangle themselves and groan, sore and satiated. Ben lets out a breath before moving from where his feet have been planted to clean himself up.

Leslie's picking up his clothing when she hears the shower turn on. He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Wanna quick rinse?” She nods, grinning sleepily.

“I'll join you in a sec,” she promises and waits until he closes the door before she grabs her notebook, quickly scribbling notes about vertical sex, two beers, dirty talk, and every ounce she can remember. Satisfied, she throws the notebook back in its hiding spot and rushes into the hot shower. They kiss lazily, both laughing without saying a word. Nothing needs saying after that, but Leslie can't refrain from grabbing his ass on the way out and announcing, “Mine,” as if Ben didn't already know.

“All of me is yours,” he reminds her, and they dry off before heading to bed.

Leslie's incredibly sore over the next couple of days but every painful step or bend to grab her purse is a reminder of their intense sex, so she really can't find much to complain about. She is a bit discomforted, however, by seeing Jerry's beautiful family sing a rehearsed breakfast song, but she tells herself she feels that way just because it's Jerry and not for any other reason. She and Ben have sober sex numerous times over the next few weeks, and she realizes while typing her experiences thus far into her study that she can't really say sober or drunk sex is better because they're so _different_.

Ben's planning on making a romantic dinner for the two of them, and due to her schedule, he has to plan it one week in advance so she can mark it on her color-coded calendar and plan everything else around it. Leslie anticipates at least one bottle of wine, so she's looking forward to moving to the next step up on her little inebriation chart. They won't be able to drive for a good hour after the amount of wine they're bound to consume, but she's not planning on them going anywhere but the bedroom anyway.

Then, there are outcries of recalling Leslie Knope.

She says strong and positive, leaning on Ben and her friends for support as she asks the people of Pawnee if they're better off. She must be, she's so positive that she's making real change. But there's a shadow of doubt cast in the back of her head that questions if she's too overbearing, if she's really ruining the town by _forcing_ it to be better. “Bring it on,” she challenges them. Leslie wonders if the camera can see that shadow.

For the rest of the day, she's all smiles and getting work done. Ben refuses to leave until she's literally pushing him out, telling him that she's fine. She repeats everything Jamm says in the form of a question to confuse him so he leaves her alone, and at 5pm sharp, Leslie's eyes are looking straight to the exit as she speed walks to her car. Of course, once she's seated, she's not sure where she wants to go. The Snakehole Lounge sounds promising, but the last place she wants to be is surrounded by the people of Pawnee who are likely to be so quick to judge her having a few drinks and a good time. She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her call log. Ann's beautiful name is listed prominently, but she's in the middle of making a new life with Chris and their potential baby. Leslie's insecurity seem small in comparison.

Fingers shaking over Ben's contact information, she puts the phone down in her cup holder and drives to the nearest liquor store outside of Pawnee where no one will recognize her. It's in Eagleton, so she makes haste in the store so no one sees her and so she can spend as little time as possible in the lovely smelling hellhole. Leslie's not well versed in alcohol, usually going for something that's sweet and tastes as little as booze as possible. The cashier is more than happy to help, smiling with typical Eagleton charm, which irks Leslie to no end.

“I need your smoothest stuff to go in at least four margaritas.” He shows her to the tequila and triple sec, but two types of alcohol that she has to measure sounds like it's going to be difficult as the night goes on. He offers that tequila goes well with the mixer by itself with a barely contained smug look, so she grabs the party size bottle of green margarita mixer and the oddly-shaped tequila bottle. She runs back to the aisle at least two more times before deciding on mango margaritas instead of lemon-lime.

With her purchase paid in cash secured in the trunk of her car, Leslie drives home, seeing two missed calls and a worried sounding voicemail from Ben, asking where she is and if she's okay. She texts him that she's on her way home and drives straight there, pulling into the driveway next to his car. Ben opens the door to greet her, and Leslie barrels through without so much as an explantation to why she's late.

“You know what I've decided? I'm just going to relax and wait this one out.” She puts down her work stuff on the floor and heads to the kitchen with her bag. Ben trails closely behind her.

“Wait this one out? You mean the recall?” Ben's eyes go wide when she pulls out the tequila. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Leslie pulls their barely used blender out from a cupboard and fills it with ice. “Of course I'm okay! Pawnee's doing just fine with me, and they're all going to see that. So I'll just keep doin' what I'm doin', ya feel?” She eyes him and smiles as if the weird accent and eyebrow raise will mean something to him.

“I guess I 'feel,'” he responds, still confused by her behavior. “And the copious amounts of booze is just you... what? Celebrating your recall?” She looks at him, crushed, and sees Ben try to backtrack. Leslie can tell he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth. “I'm sorry, Les. I didn't mean it like that. You're just acting weirdly about this whole thing: You come home late after not telling me where you are. You're about to go on this bender... I want to support you, I will _always_ support you, but I need to know what's up.”

She puts down the bottles and goes over to Ben, kissing him softly before hugging him. He holds her close. “I can be strong for Pawnee,” she says against his chest before pulling away and looking him in the eye, “but please don't make me be strong for you, not right now. I want to enjoy my evening in with you, get piss drunk and wallow a bit, maybe dance, but I don't want to think about how betrayed and angry I feel right now that I worked so hard to be elected to city council just so the city I love and work endlessly for can be mad because I care too much. I won't go down without a fight. I'm just not going to worry about it tonight... Or tomorrow because I'm going to be really hungover.”

Ben laughs at that and nods, pulling her close to kiss the top of her head. “That's the Leslie I know.” He moves over to the counter to help make frozen margaritas, but frowns when he can't find the triple sec. Upon asking about it, Leslie shrugs and explains that measuring two different alcohols seemed like too much work at the time to get drunk. “Yep, definitely the Leslie I know.”

Her Sarah McLachlan playlist doesn't work well with their drinks or for the type of pumping up she wants, so Ben finally puts on Pandora to a station that Tom usually plays on his laptop. It's loud, has a lot of bass, and Leslie's pretty sure she can feel the vibrations down in her stomach. After another sip of sugary, icy, deliciousness (which she'll begrudgingly admit is pretty damn smooth – _damn it, Eagleton_ ), she doesn't care. The two sit at first, talking about anything but the recall. She asks him about his day, checks to see how Andy is doing with Sweetums, and even manages to bring up how his parents are doing. But then talking isn't enough to get her mind off of Pawnee, so Leslie's in the kitchen, making more margaritas, and adding a splash more tequila than Ben did for their first round.

On their second round, Leslie insists on dancing. She does some weird moves, grabs Ben's hand, and pulls him in. They know how ridiculous they look, but the alcohol's kicking in, so they stop caring. Ben turns Leslie around so that her back's to him, and with one hand on her hip, guides her a bit more. It's sloppy and they both still have a drink in their right hands, but it's starting to turn more into the night Leslie imagined. She goes to sip from her glass, but it's empty. Turning around, she sees Ben down the last of his. They both walk to the kitchen to make more.

The third round consists of how much booze and mixer looks right to them, and when Leslie tastes it by sticking her finger into the batch, it's satisfactory. Rather than resume dancing, they lean against the cool counter. Ben sips his while watching Leslie over his glass. She removed her blazer a while ago and has untucked her blouse and unbuttoned the top. Her hair is loose and after a long sip from her drink, she's smiling and waving softly over at him. “Hey,” she says over the music.

“Hey,” he answers. Leslie's heart flutters; even in her drunken state, she can acknowledge how lucky she is to have someone like Ben who will support her, whether in fighting back or getting drunk. She finishes her drink when she sees that his glass is empty, and pulls him back over to the open living room to dance.

Moving back to their positions of her back to him, she reaches around for his hands and places them on her hips. She's not wearing her heels, so her uncoordinated steps aren't so detrimental. When one step has her back against him, Leslie pretends like it was intentional and begins moving her hips more. Ben's hands tighten more around her waist, holding her snugly as she's grinding. Leslie can feel him erect against her ass, and she feels sexually empowered. She wants to tease him.

She grabs his hands and moves them up as if to place them on her breasts, but then she pushes them away and walks toward the kitchen, looking back and seeing his dazed expression. Ben's quick behind her though, putting his arms around her again as she pours more tequila and mixer into the blender. Placing the lid on, she hits the switch, only to realize that she forgot the ice. “Could you fill this up with ice, Benji?” Leslie's voice sounds completely innocent, as if she didn't just dry hump her husband.

With a defiant look, Ben moves to the freezer and does as she asks. When the blender is switched back on again, he pushes her against the counter and moves to put his icy cold hands under her shirt and on her nipples. Leslie moves back against his torso, hissing at the sensation. “That was mean,” she says when he pulls his hands away and busies himself by moving her hair aside and kissing the back of her neck. She turns off the blender and pours their drinks, forgetting whose glass is whose and not caring.

Ben laughs. “You're one to talk with that move you pulled back there.”

“What move?” Leslie asks innocently, if not loudly, before taking a large sip. She gasps, “Ah! Brain freeze!”

Ben struggles to remember the remedy. “Uh, put your tongue on your nose. No... put your thumb on the roof of your mouth? Oh!” Once he's got it, he kisses her, running his tongue over the roof of her mouth. “That's it! Tongue on the roof of your mouth.” Leslie looks at him. “Was that weird? It seemed kind of weird in my head but for some reason, I did it anyway.”

Leslie looks down at the glass in her hand. It's half full. She downs the rest of it, squinting from the headache. “Again,” she groans out in pain. It takes Ben a second to realize she wants him to run his tongue over the roof of her mouth again, but when he does, it has an electric affect on his wife. They're kissing messily with much more tongue than they usually use, and it feels amazing. Backed against the counter, Leslie struggles to find purchase on it before pushing herself up on it. Ben instantly moves between her legs, kissing her while they try to unbutton each other's shirts with no coordination.

Once the shirts are off, Leslie unhooks her bra. Ben's eying her skirt, so Leslie hops off the counter and unzips it, letting it fall on it's own accord. She slowly removes her pantyhose, hoping her show is somewhat sexy, before taking off her black panties. She just makes it to the counter when Ben's back where he belongs between her legs, kissing her roughly, their chests touching. He moves down to her breasts, sucking on each nipple before kissing valley between them, his teeth scraping her skin. “Your tits are incredible,” he tells her, and she takes his word for it.

While he returns to kissing her mouth, his tongue swiping her lower lip, he slides a hand between her legs and starts rubbing her clit. Sober Ben would do it slowly and precisely, enough to drive her insane with pleasure until speeding up. Drunk Ben, however, has no rhyme or reason to his movements. It doesn't matter to Leslie, though. His fingers are slick with her wetness, she's thrusting against his hand, and his hot breath is whispering in her ear, “I want you to come so hard Leslie Knope... I want you to come so I can lick your pussy and taste just how good I make you feel.”

“God yes, Ben,” she cries out. “And then what? What are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do?”

She wasn't expecting him to say that, and every option her mind brings up sounds amazing. “I want you inside me,” she says, panting. “I want it rough, I want to be on top, and I want to come again tonight.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Ben agrees. “Anything for you.” Leslie comes so hard against his hand that she cries out his name, almost certain the the waves of orgasm are in line with the bass line from the music. When she can breathe again and open her eyes, it's to see Ben looking at her. “You're so beautiful,” he tells her gently, before kissing her.

“Bedroom,” Leslie reminds him, and he nods wordlessly. She's about to slid off the counter, but he stops her, holding her still. He bends down so that his head's between her legs, and tastes her as he promised. Legs shaking, she's so sensitive, she moans. His tongue's fucking her, and it's taking all of her willpower to stop him. “Mmm Ben, no. Real sex.”

“Couldn't resist,” he smiles wickedly, getting up and heading to the bedroom while she turns off the stereo, having to focus her eyes on the right button. “Still drunk...” she mumbles to herself to keep track during her walk to the bedroom. “Four drinks, fingering in the kitchen, Tom's playlist...” Leslie goes silent when she sees Ben in bed, laying on his back, ready for her. He beckons her with one hand. She obeys.

Climbing in, Leslie straddles him before positioning herself and sinking down onto him. She's still sensitive from earlier, so she moves slowly, shifting her hips and thighs to ride him. Ben groans, his head pushing into the pillow and his eyes tightly shut at the sensation. “I want to kiss you,” Leslie demands, and he's up instantly to accommodate her. Rocking against him while he's sitting up, she decides that this position will work as well.

“Leslie, I uhh,” Ben starts, his eyes unfocused, “I don't know how much longer I can hold back.”

“Don't. Don't hold back,” she pleads. He moves a hand between them to help her find release, but she grabs it and holds it with another above his head. “After.” Leslie kisses him as he groans, feeling the telltale tightening and throbbing of his release. She moves a few more times, riding it out, and waits for Ben to open his eyes. When he does, he looks comically spent, eyes crinkled and lazy smile upon his lips. He leaves to remove the condom in the bathroom, returning to see her in bed, lazying running her hand along her stomach.

Ben puts a hand on her shoulder as a sign for her to sit up. “You don't... I mean, I was, still am, drunk. I don't need to... _again_.”

“Leslie, you said you wanted to come again,” he says, words just slightly slurred from drunkenness, “but you didn't say how. I want you to touch yourself.” There's something about the earnest way he asks that makes any argument leave her mind.

She sits up. “Just...?”

“Just like you normally do.”

Closing her eyes, she breathes in and out. Her hands move to her chest, but her nipples are sore from Ben's very thorough and very hot onslaught of attention, so that's not really a good place to be right now. Ben notices her wince when she touches them and apologizes, moving to kiss them softly to make them feel better. She giggles, lightly pushing him away. Her hands then move downward, one spreading herself open more while the other pushes one finger inside her. Slick, the finger then rubs her clit in slow circles. It doesn't take long for the build to start. She speeds up just a little, her hip bucking once.

He pushes her hair away from her face and kisses her forehead. “You're so gorgeous,” he whispers intimately.

She's not sure what to say, so she smiles instead. There's one pulse; she's getting closer. Leslie's hand moves quicker now, moving to get wet again before rubbing long strokes from her opening to her clit. “Ben,” she chokes out, “I...I...” and then orgasm rolls through her. Panting his name and declarations of love, she doesn't stop moving her hand until she physically can't take stimulation anymore. Her body relaxes against the sheets, and finally she opens her eyes.

Ben leans down to kiss her. “Perfect,” he tells her, “you're so perfect.”

Her eyes begin to droop. “Mmm, we should drink some water so we can feel perfect in the morning.”

“I'll go get some large glasses,” he offers. Leslie smiles, her mind still fuzzy and the world tilting a bit, even with her eyes closed. She crawls over to the side of the bed to grab her notebook. The words she manages to write are sloppy and barely descriptors of their evening, but they make sense at the moment. Tossing the notebook away, she stumbles to the bathroom, relieves herself, and returns to see Ben - perfect, drunk, Ben – with a water for her.

They drink together sitting up, brush their teeth, and wash up before bed in silence. When they make it back, snug under the covers with the lights off, Leslie whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ben replies, his voice sleepy but sincere.

“We'll get through this,” Leslie states, no question in her voice, and she moves to lie against him.

Ben rubs her arm gently, humming in agreement, before drifting off to sleep. Leslie takes a moment to think about how happy she is to be married to Ben before following him into slumber.

Leslie remembers many things the next morning. She remembers getting up at least half a dozen times during the night, the first to pee and the other few to get drinks of water and alternate between removing blankets and adding blankets. When she decides she's had enough sleep, or more likely, isn't going back to sleep anymore at the moment with the sun streaming through the window, she gets up again to use the restroom and drink more water. Ben's fast asleep in bed, so she's careful to close the door quietly.

He has a tendency to sleep in after drinking, so when she returns to the bedroom, she opens the beside drawer as quietly as possible to pull out her notebook and see if she can decipher her writing. The drawer opens with a squeak, but Ben doesn't stir. She settles into bed, covering her naked body with the warm covers, and opens to the last page with writing.

_four drnks_

_pandoras box_

_sink sexx_

_top_

_masturbtn_

The spelling errors aren't encouraging for her ego, but she can luckily recall the events of the previous night vividly. Her laptop is by her work bag near the door, she believes, and she's too lazy (and queasy) to go out there, so she settles for handwriting it out in more detail. It's only fitting to add her mindset to the study, so she reluctantly adds a preface about her reasons for getting drunk before delving into the better stuff.

For a moment, Leslie wonders if this is what it's like to write those porn novels that are suddenly all the craze. She's not necessarily getting off to the memories of getting off with Ben, but there's a weird perspective of writing it all out, from special areas that she and he like to be kissed, to certain expressions that mean different things. It's storytelling using physical factors that reflect physical and often psychological events... Or at least that's what she's going to add in the author's note section to make herself seem less like a sex-crazed perv. _Do scientific studies have authors' notes?_

The sheets move besides her. Ben turns over toward her, but instead of opening his eyes, he pulls the blankets over them. Within seconds, his breathing evens out again. He's still out cold. Leslie continues writing everything out to the last detail she can remember, blushing at the memory of him watching her as she touched herself. She was no stranger to sex before meeting Ben, but everything feels more intimate and sexy when it's with him. There's less embarrassment when asking him to do something in the bedroom, something she might have been too afraid to ask her other boyfriends and lovers. She figures maybe that's why all those couples ask Ann for sexual advice: they're intimate and in love and ready to try something new and exciting but only with each other.

A groan sounds at last from under the blankets. Ben gently pulls them away, squinting from the light and curving into her. Putting the notebook down, she cuddles close to him. “Good morning, sleepy head,” she whispers, cautious of a possible headache.

“Muuhhhh,” he responds. His hair is poking out every which way, and Leslie can't stop herself from playing with it. “That feels good.” Ben's eyes are closed, but his hand moves to hold hers. “Are you okay?”

“Not feeling too crappy, if that's what you mean.” She considers getting up and making a big breakfast spread, but that would involve exerting energy. “Maybe after a shower and after some straightening up, we can go to JJ's and let him make us feel better?” He nods. “Okay. I'll turn on the shower.”

They put on jeans and sweatshirts after their long, hot shower, not intending on staying out for long or facing other people. The living room and kitchen is a mess, the couches moved around for their makeshift dance floor and the counter all sticky from their drinks. Ben takes on the furniture while Leslie throws all the glasses into the dishwasher and takes a sponge to the rest. By the time they're finished, they're less nauseous and more hungry – a suitable condition according to Leslie to make their way to JJ's. As Ben drives, sunglasses covering his cute, squinty eyes, she puts a call in to request a booth be held somewhere in the back.

They sit in the parking lot for a moment. “Hoods?” Leslie asks, ready to pull hers over her head. Ben sighs beside her, shaking his head.

“You're only going out this once today. If you see someone you know, so what? If they bring up the recall, you can politely tell them you love Pawnee and want its people to decide what's best for it.” He takes her hand and squeezes it before opening his door. Leslie nods and follows, hood off.

JJ himself greets them at the door with his normal pleasantries. Leslie helps to keep this diner afloat, he tells them. “If you ever want a retiring job, I think you'd be the best hostess. You sell these waffles better than I do!” She's practically beaming, partially because there's always a special place in her heart for JJ and his waffles (the latter also in her likely clogged arteries), but also because it's nice to see that someone other than her own Parks Department or husband thinks of her more than just someone who's ruining their town. As he talks, JJ leads them to a booth so far in the back that it's in the employees only section. The table has their piping hot food already on it. “I brought you the usuals. I'll send someone 'round to get you some coffee. Otherwise, no one will bother you.”

Ben's already digging into his omelet, thanking JJ with his mouth full. She thanks him softly before sinking down into the cushioned booth. They're regulars with usuals. The thought churns through her mind as she digs into her waffles and whipped cream, washing each ginormous bite down with coffee. Leslie's quiet during breakfast, but Ben doesn't seem to question it, too preoccupied with satisfying his craving for greasy food. Once they're both full to the point of waddling rather than walking, they leave their money on the table with an exorbitant tip for the privacy and leave.

As promised, Leslie is not going to deal with recall nonsense today. Ben puts on an episode of _Homeland_ on their DV-R, even though he's not a huge fan anymore and is just watching to “see it through.” Propped up on a pillow while laying on the couch for optimum digestion, she's typing away on her study, looking between her laptop screen and her notebook. She'd like to document their sex after a bottle of wine before closing it out, though the conclusion so far seems obvious: the drunker they get, the less coordinated the sex and the less self-conscious they feel about what they might otherwise deem dirty or rushed sex. There's an instinct to say they have “less intimate” or “less romantic” sex but Leslie ignores it; the act itself between them is intimate _and_ romantic, even if they don't take their time or if it takes place on their kitchen counter.

The formatting is breezed through, and all that's left is her last observations before she's good to print and present. “Whatcha doing?” Ben asks, probably spurred on by the accomplished grin on Leslie's face. She looks up, contemplating what to tell him. Ann's advice rings true; they're married and they can't keep secrets from each other. But on the other hand, this is her study, something that's interested her and excited her for weeks now. If he disapproves or worse, dismisses it, Leslie will be crushed. If Pawnee hates her, she needs Ben to believe in her and all that she does, even extremely descriptive sex studies that would make Masters and Johnson blush.

“A thing.” Leslie tilts her head, the sound of that more unconvincing and suspicious than she likes. “A thing about us. A gift, I suppose. Yeah, a special presentation that will be done soonish and then you can see it so no more questions about it now.” _Smooth_. She realizes the TV show is still playing, even while his focus is on her. “Don't you want to pause that and go back?”

He shrugs. “Meh, I don't need to. I get the gist of it. Not nearly as good or plausible as the first season.”

That sets her off, though in retrospect, she'll wonder how inconsequential a thing as a less-interesting TV show could really make her words boil out of her. “Ben, we are a boring, old married couple, and we haven't even been married for six months!” At this point, her laptop is nearly thrown aside as she sits up, hands moving with her words for emphasis.

“What do you mean, Les?” He moves off his seat to sit beside her.

“We're respected regulars at a diner. We have _usuals_. I could have gone in and ordered something else, but there my waffles were, with enough whipped cream to drown a child. But you know what? I wouldn't have wanted to order something else because I always want those waffles. And now we're watching shows we don't even have interest in, shows we barely even watch when they're on our TV, just because we have nothing better to watch, so we might as well see what happens. We make the same old breakfast at home; I could probably make it with my eyes closed!”

Her tirade is so odd that Ben shakes his head to come up with a response. “Do you want something else for breakfast? We could--”

“No! I love our breakfast! But that's the thing – I love everything we do, even though it's boring. We're _boring_... already. And after this recall, I'll go back to Parks, work until we retire, get the same breakfast but this time, with the senior discount.” Once she's done, her hands fall into her lap. Leslie's embarrassed for throwing a tantrum but relieved that she's voiced this concern for the first time.

Ben's hands reach to grab her arms. She sees sincerity in his eyes. “If you're recalled,” Ben offers, “you're going to do something better than Pawnee city council, something that will improve the lives of other people, better people who respect you. It's not the end. And I'd like to think that we're not boring and _definitely_ not old. So what if we do things the same way? They're efficient and they make us happy. The best routine I have is seeing you; that's never going to get old or boring for me.” He kisses her, his hands on her cheeks. When he pulls back, Ben holds her close. “Besides, we still have amazing sex. If we're still doing that while getting the senior discount at JJ's, I'm going to be very happy with how I spent my life. Okay?”

“Okay.” Leslie kisses him again, feeling like a weight has been taken off her shoulders despite the deadweight in her stomach from breakfast. They resume watching together, more focused on each other than the plot.

Their romantic dinner is postponed until the announcing of the Pawnee-Eagleton merger. They celebrate with Ben's home-cooked meal and a bottle of wine. They drink a little throughout dinner, but then bring the bottle and their glasses to the couch to watch a movie. By the time the bottle's empty, Leslie can hardly piece how she manages to be seated in between Ben's legs. His hands reach around her waist and underneath her pants and underwear. Leslie pulls her head back to meet him in an open mouthed kiss, her breathing heavy as he fingers her, one hand reaching to cup her breast. When she comes, he's desperate to be inside her, teased by her ass rubbing against him.

He fucks her slowly, or at least as slowly as he can while this turned on and fuzzy from the wine. “I love you,” Ben tells her too many times to count, “and I can't wait to do this next year, and the year after, and the year after...” That's one routine Leslie can be 100% on board with. She tells him this, and he orgasms, her legs tight around him.

Leslie presents her study to Ben after returning home from her last day on city council. It's boxed and wrapped perfectly, complete with a bow on top. He pulls apart the paper and opens the box to find a binder labeled, “Sex and Alcohol: How a Married Couple With Booze Woos and Screws Their Way Into Keeping Things Fresh.” Laughing, Ben thumbs through the pages.

“This is what you've been working on this whole time? Experiments? What kind of experiments are you... whoa.” He clears his throat. “That's some detail you've got there.” Throughout each experiment, there are numbers: volume of alcohol consumed, estimated time of coitus, and measured distance from starting place of consumption to where they ended up having sex.

Leslie stop him from flipping to the back. “That's no fun! You've gotta start reading at the beginning!”

“'I, Leslie Knope,'” Ben begins, “'hypothesize that if I (Subject One) and Benjamin Wyatt (Subject Two) consume more than 355 milliliters of beer or any quantity of other alcohol, we still, no matter what, have sex.' Interesting. I guess I never realized that.”

“Every time,” Leslie tells him, smiling while leaning in for a kiss. “Keep reading, because the conclusion/author's note section is the best part.”

By the time Ben's done reading every line of the experiments and observations, he's flushed. “That's more of my sex life than I ever imagined to be written down.” He turns the page to the last section. “'In conclusion, I can safely say I have proven my hypothesis. Along the way, however, I discovered something more important: While the routine of drinking leading to having sex may be an ensured occurrence, the caveats of each instance keep the act from _feeling_ routine. I have since come away from my observations realizing that it's Benjamin Wyatt (Subject Two) that enhances my sex life and not the alcohol.' Awww, this makes all the hangovers much more worth it.”

“Ignore the back that states that all material in this study is not to be published until the author decides for certain not to write an erotic novel.”

“Wha--” Leslie silences him with a kiss, feeling assured that even as she returns to her routined life at Parks and Recreation, it's with so many more excitements from her friends and her husband to liven up each day.

 


End file.
